All The Years Count

15/02/2024

Born in the war in a field in Essex.
Daddy milked cows, Mummy made cheese,
pumped water, lit oil lamps and the wood-fired range.
I got muddy knees crawling in the long garden.

Two handfuls of years,
my bare knees dangling from grey school shorts.
Bed-time story books, stamp collecting;
first spectacles, first girlfriend, first bike.

Second year at College,
my Beatles sweater scored a hit with girls at a knees up.
My eyes washed memories of Mummy away. We met.
With coming of age soon we were going to fix the world.

Halfway through my life;
up the career ladder with a class of 30;
up the builder's ladder doing DIY work;
bouncing our two growing girls on my knees.

Eight of us round the table including Nana
New friends smiled at our camping holidays -
Peugeot 504 estate, swimming costumes, wellies.
We fell on our knees to thank the Lord.

Stress had felled me but you nursed me
through sickness, I rose
to a computer keyboard on my knees.
The lost years, the years of inner growth.

Since you've gone my tears have resolved to joy.
Two grandchildren scramble on my knees with
scratches from brambles on rambles.
Four decades till I reach three figures.

Going on missions north, south, west and east.
Two more weddings and seven more grandchildren.
Many new friends and a new special lady.
I'll have ten more years if I don't sneeze.

I'm leaving 'late middle age'
to become a 'Senior'.
With a metal hip pointing to my knee.
I'll stride steadily into 'Eldership.'

May 2004 & Feb 2014 & Jan 2024